What Draco Did For Family
by aaliona
Summary: Draco was assigned one task, a task far beyond a sixteen-year-old boy, but he cannot refuse.


**This was written for round four of Taragh McCarthy's The Word Limit Competition with the length of 2000 words (give or take 100) and the prompt "playing it cool." I hope you enjoy!**

"Narcissa, perhaps your son could be of some assistance in light of your husband's _absence_."

She flinched under his words, but Draco, the boy in question, did not so much as quirk his lip in response. After a few tense seconds, he looked up and gave his mother a grimace that would have passed for a smile to anyone else. Although she could see the pain in his eyes, she bowed her head in reverence. "It will be an honor to have a son in your ranks, my lord."

The snake-like man grinned, though nothing resembling joy appeared on his face. "Excellent. I have many plans for him."

The next night, just before his initiation, Narcissa slipped closer to Draco and whispered, ever able to see his hidden emotions, "Play it cool, my son. He will reward us for this." It was only after he had the mark burned into his skin that Draco allowed himself to writhe in pain on his bed and see the lies in his mother's words. This was not a reward; this was punishment, the deepest kind.

A week later, he was called again to the Dark Lord's presence. To some, it may have seemed joyous that his mother and aunt were also there, but Draco knew better. The family that pays together stays together.

"Draco, how good of you to join us," his lord – _NO!_ – his father's lord drawled. "I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten."

"Of course not, my lord!" his aunt gasped. "Draco could _never_ forget something as important as this. It is an honor, an absolute honor!"

The Dark Lord allowed the semblance of a smile to cross his face as he stood from his large chair. He held out an arm, motioning for Draco to sit next to his aunt. The young boy wondered, as he felt Bellatrix's demanding grasp on his arm, if the Dark Lord had not done this on purpose, since his mother sat alone, isolated from him on the other side of the room.

"Our lord has a task for you, Draco," his aunt stage-whispered as she gave his arm another squeeze. "You are to be _very_ important."

"Important indeed," the older man said. "I have a task for you, which I would not trust to many. It is of the utmost significance that you do not fail." He paused before turning to face Draco, allowing him to gage the boy's reaction. "You are to kill Dumbledore."

Generations of impeccable breeding and years as a child seen and not heard in pureblood society were the only tools saving Draco from melting into a blubbering mess right then and there. He did not harbor a liking for the chipper old man, quite the opposite actually. The fool was too fond of Potter and Mudbloods. Dumbledore distrusted Slytherins and seemed too perfectly good. But he was the cornerstone of a safer world.

Draco missed his childhood, where he could be as rotten as he wanted and spout off whatever came to mind, as long as he said it to the right person. He missed his mother living less timidly and his father having a Ministry pedestal. While Draco knew it would be naïve to imagine living like that again, he was well aware that it would never be achieved under the Dark Lord. Inside him was turmoil, although he had become practiced in Occlumency at fourteen, so his feelings were blocked off from his new master. Still, they threatened to spill over his mental walls until he looked at his mother. As soon as they made eye contact, he remembered her words. _Play it cool._

She was right, of course. His mother usually was. Draco cleared his mind and looked up at the Dark Lord. "How shall I do it, my lord?"

The bald man's lips curled. Draco could see a glint of surprise in his eyes and knew the man had predicted him to refuse, but Draco was not stupid. Refusal would have meant immediate death for him and possibly for his mother. He did refuse, however, to imagine the consequences should he fail. He would die, his mother would die, his father would die, and he would likely be forced to watch their deaths first.

"I do not care how it is done," the Dark Lord replied, pulling Draco from his hidden thoughts. "It is preferable that you do so in a way that would not directly implicate yourself. Such backlash would make you as useless as your father."

Draco watched his mother's face crumble, but luckily she was calm before their master turned her way. Unlike her, Draco gave no visible acknowledgement to the jab at his father. He merely replied, "Yes, sir. Perhaps poison or a curse?"

"Yes," he replied, looking back at Draco. "Poison would be very good and incredibly hard to place if the carrier is not near at hand. You may wish to Imperius an assistant or two."

"Of course, my lord." Draco dipped his head. "They should make it incredibly hard to trace back to a source." _To him._

"Excellent. You are dismissed."

As soon as Draco and his mother had exited the room – leaving Bellatrix behind to schmooze with her master – he yanked her as far from the door as he could. It was not a moment too soon because she immediately started sobbing onto his shoulder.

"I'll be fine, Mum," he said with a sigh. He was the one who had just been sent on a suicide mission – dead if he did it and dead if he didn't – yet here he was, comforting her. Although, he supposed, it was among her rights as a mother to cry for him.

She stood up straight and put a hand on each shoulder. Narcissa then ignored the tears still glossing her cheeks as she smiled grimly and met his eye. "Yes, you will be," she replied. "I have always been proud of you, Draco, and I know you will find the right thing to do when the moment comes."

What did that mean? Draco wanted to ask her, but she had already turned away and was now walking briskly to the fireplace to Floo home. He followed, still unsure what she meant by "the right thing."

**…**

Draco sat with one hand fisted in his hair from stress. Over the last month, he had formulated many half-schemes, but he lacked the means to do them. Namely, he had no ideas for an accomplice. He couldn't ask any Slytherins, because he did not trust them, but he also was afraid to get anyone else involved. Willing or not, he hated the idea of someone else taking the fall for him, especially on such a serious matter.

Although he tried not to admit it even to myself, Draco had another reason for not choosing his help. Even the idea of controlling someone else scared him. He controlled Crabbe and Goyle, but that was much different. They _wanted_ to be around him, wanted him to guide them. If he said something they would do it, unless they changed their minds. They still had the freedom to say no. Granted, he would have instantly become pissed, but he would understand. Draco was a bully and a control freak; he was not a dictator.

"How are you, Draco?"

He jumped and nearly ripped the papers in front of him in his haste to flip them over.

"Relax, son. It's just me."

Draco looked over at his mother, biting his lip. It made him feel a little better knowing she was around to care for him, but on the other hand, she complicated matters greatly. His father was in Azkaban, and his aunt was more than capable of taking care of herself. Only his mother stood between him and fleeing for his life. If she were not around, he would have been free to refuse Voldemort. He could have avoided joining the Death Eaters completely.

But abandoning his mother was out of the question.

"Hello, Mum," he said and forced a grin.

She sat down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "How is your task coming along?"

"Fine," he said, clasping his hands together.

"Have you decided who will be _helping_ you?"

His hands tightened, cracking two knuckles. "I don't think the Dark Lord would approve of me sharing plans with you, Mother."

"Oh, of course not," she replied, her voice tight. Draco imagined her smile matched the tone, but he chose not to look up. It would only add to his conflict and guilt. He flinched as her hand moved from his shoulder, although he was unwilling to admit that such an action actually comforted him; Malfoys were strong and did not need others. "I knew you would be too good for this."

After jerking his head up in surprise, Draco stared at his mother for a moment, trying to wrap his head around her words. "Too good for what?"

"For this," she repeated. "Draco, I have raised you to be a compassionate young man. You are not always nice, but you are fair. I know you, and you won't hurt someone without reason." She glanced around, as if making sure they were alone. She dropped her voice, although that really would not do much. "Killing your headmaster because he is the enemy is not enough reason for you, and even if it were, dragging someone else in to take the fall is not your style."

"I have to," he said.

His mother slowly shook her head back and forth. "You do not." She touched his chin, guiding his eyes back to hers. "We can leave. Your father will be safe enough, but I refuse to watch my son throw his life away."

"No." Draco allowed as little emotion to leak into his voice as possible. "If we do, he'll find us, and then he'll kill you. I'm all right with this, Mother. Really, I won't put you at risk."

She turned away, ashamed to let her son see her crying. In response, Draco gave her a hug. It was slightly awkward since they were not an overly affectionate family, but it helped Narcissa tremendously. She turned slightly to hug him back. "If you're sure," she said quietly. "Still, remember this. I will be perfectly fine if you change your mind and cannot go through with it. It may seem like your aunt is gone, but she would _never_ let me be truly harmed."

"I know," he replied. Aunt Bellatrix was crazy, but she loved them in her own way: pressing them closer to her god-like master.

"I mean it, Draco," Narcissa insisted. "I refuse to see your soul shattered by this."

"Don't worry. I can't shatter what I've already given to him."


End file.
